


Being Draco Malfoy

by seacaptain



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: And Occasional Crack, Angst, Class Differences, Draco:Chaotic Neutral, Dramedy, Foster Care, Harry:Chaotic Good, Impersonation, M/M, Petty Tom, Psychological, Same Age, Timeline Mashup, Tom: Chaotic Evil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:21:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23572276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seacaptain/pseuds/seacaptain
Summary: Harry Potter landed smack dab in the middle of Tom’s category of things he wanted, but actively chose not to have, wedged between desserts and Lucius Malfoy’s head on a plate.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Comments: 21
Kudos: 90





	Being Draco Malfoy

June 20th, 1997

Tom Riddle had been back under Martha Wool’s roof for no more than five hours before he’d subsequently kicked himself out.

Martha had this little Jesus on the cross figurine, hung on her wall, directly above the refrigerator. And on the refrigerator was a magnet of Saint Therese. Tom had been dissecting Jesus’ over-defined pectorals, while slurping on his cereal and tripping any spare person that happened to pass by the kitchen table, for a grand total of five times. Overall, for his first day away from Hogwarts that summer, it wasn’t bad.

Mason McPhearson was at the table rubbing his calves, pouting resentfully at him when a screech was heard from the hallway.:

“TOM RIDDLE!”

Tom continued eating, ignoring Martha's shouts while Mason shook his head. Tom paused when he heard the boy mutter freak under his breath. Shoving his last scoop of cereal in his mouth, Tom poured the rest of his bowls contents on Mason’s crotch.

“UUUUGH!” the boy exclaimed. Yes, Tom thought, while Mason freaked out. That felt good. He was always so reserved with wizards, but the instant he was with muggles, all rules flew out the window.

“GET YOUR ARSE IN HERE!” Martha shrieked.

Her timing had always been exquisite. Tom left the kitchen, leaving Mason loudly expressing his disgust in his wake.

“WANKER!”

Martha was compensated for Tom year-round, despite only fostering him three months of the year. Tom had been gravely considering Voldemort but maybe he ought to change his name to Free Money instead.

“What is this?!” Martha shook the dirty mags at Tom when he turned the corner. Tom took them from her, scrutinizing their flashy covers.

Tom had selected them on his journey from King’s Cross in a little corner shop. The minute he’d entered Wool’s premises he set them in plain view. Tom was approaching seventeen and on the verge of aging out of the system. He’d jumped from home to home before Hogwarts, and then when he hit thirteen, he’d come to Martha’s, which was more a tiny, wannabe religious commune than a group home. With seventh year nearly upon Tom, it was time to lighten Martha’s load. Better of his own accord than to have somebody else do it for him.

“Hairy Men Waxing Extraordinaire,” Tom flicked through the magazines, reading the titles off and inwardly leering at the woman’s scandalized glower. “No Paddle Ping Pong” And Tom’s personal favorite: “BDSM Cops the Saga: Pigs Pleading 4 Punishment.”

Martha twitched. Her wiring gone bad- Tom presumed. Perhaps if he poured water on her she’d release sparks. Or better, break down and die.

Truth be told, Tom was really counting on Martha’s prejudices to do the job. He stood before the woman waiting on her to _finally_ do what she’d been wanting to do for years. Tom _could_ just walk out. He could’ve bypassed this altogether. But Tom was petty enough to want it to reach social workers. Tom’d been in worse places. It was just a matter of revenge, more than anything else.

“Did I tell you I got a summer job?” Tom said.

Martha’s jowls wobbled. “That’s right. You can’t control me anymore.”

Was she planning to say anything? Ever? _C’mon woman, give me something to work with here._

“It’s a satanic restaurant for magic folk, ran by polygamous lesbians that sacrifice unwanted babies on weeknights.” Rumor had it, Bellatrix Lestrange ran the establishment, so actually… Tom wasn’t lying.

“Watch this.” Taking fate into his hands, Tom twirled his hand, like he’d seen in a few movies. Her eyes widened, caught on the tip of Tom’s index finger. “Bippity Boppity…”

He tapped Martha’s nose.

“Boo.”

“What in fresh hell are you doing?”

“It’s a magic blessing.”

“FOR _WHAT_?!”

“The wart on your chin.”

“…”

“…”

“…..”

“I stole your wallet.”

“OUT! GET OUT!”

* * *

So the rental above ‘ _Godric’s Fearless Wander_ ’ was an utterly despondent, dilapidated piece of shit. But Tom was used to pieces of shit, so he followed Lucius Malfoy into the studio, and looked at the bathroom door hanging off its hinges and said:

“You’ve outdone yourself Mr.Malfoy. I don’t think I’ve ever had a bathroom with a door before.” He gazed around the room, appreciating the window panes. What was pitiful was… Tom was only half sarcastic. “Do these windows… _open_?” Tom’s optimism might’ve been comically faux, but if this was what freedom looked like, it wasn’t difficult to fake. Tom shared his Slytherin dormitory with four other blokes. At Martha’s, you resided in a large room with 8 bunks. And before that, Tom’d shared a single room with three others. And long before any of that, as a child he’d shared a bed with a serial bed-wetter.

Beds were customary, but he’d slept on sofas, cots, mats, floors. Under tables, in corridors, in cupboards. In a bathtub once.

And with all that in mind, Tom hadn’t spent a single night alone probably… ever in his life. You truly couldn’t put a price on solitude.

Lucius, who had peacocks in his garden and a fleet of winged horses, shifted uneasily and cleared his throat. Tom ignored him, scrutinizing the dark wood floors, and the view of the town square the studio had. His room overlooked the church. And from where Tom stood, he could see the sun setting behind the post office. It was good. In dire need of fixing up. But it was Tom’s for the next two and a half months.

Which was a foreign concept.

The only thing Tom’d ever had that was his and his alone was Nagini.

“We’ve provided one of Draco’s old beds,” Lucius gestured towards the out of place four poster in the middle of the room. Tom set his trunk at the foot of it.

“I thought it looked familiar.”

“We’re doing you a favor,” Lucius stated.

“Of course,” Tom agreed, even though he really didn’t. He smiled an empty close-mouthed smile, watching Lucius fidget with his cane. He understood he made the older man uncomfortable; and really there was nothing he could do about it. Some people were better at picking these things up. Lucius doubtlessly sensed Tom’s underlying resentment.

“I’m _also_ doing you a favor, Mr.Malfoy,” Tom reminded him.

Lucius’ neck reddened, and Tom veered around, inspecting the cobwebs in the furthermost corner of the studio. Lucius Malfoy receiving favors from orphan mudbloods… The truth hurt, didn’t it? Lucius Malfoy’s son wasn’t good enough, and so he employed Tom to be good enough for him. He couldn’t accept Draco Malfoy as he was. Lucius made Tom wonder if having your own set of parents wasn’t vastly overrated.

“We’ve discussed this already, but you’re free to stay here until September 1st. It bears repeating, the money won’t enter your account until spring of next year. Until then, Narcissa’s sister manages the restaurant. I don’t visit much, but I imagine Draco will, now that you’re here. You’d do well to be on time. Bellatrix can get unpredictable.” The Malfoys always had their hands in something. They rented out buildings and land all over the country, to muggles and wizards alike and owned multiple businesses that combined, accounted for a sixth of Britain's wizarding workforce.

“Have I ever been late before, Mr.Malfoy” Tom asked, unblinking.

“No,” Lucius admitted. “That’s why we’re taking a chance on you.”

Amongst other things.

Tom stared him in the eye, running his index finger along the dust in the windowsill, watching the man squirm. Lucius hated to be alone with him. He was always braver when his wife was present. And Tom was good at dwelling in silence. Others, not so much. Quiet scared some people. They hated to let secrets go unspoken between them. Quiet hung over their heads, and they could admit a great many things if Tom let an uncomfortable silence go on long enough.

Tom wanted to see Lucius spill his secrets.

Moreover, Lucius Malfoy was one of those people Tom wanted to see cry, but probably never would.

As if sensing Tom’s bubbling hostility, Lucius stepped forward, setting the unit’s key in Tom’s palm. His eyebrows furrowed. Unable to even look Tom in the eye, despite having negotiated Draco’s future with him nearly a month prior.

“You have all weekend to sort your things out. Then you start Monday.”

* * *

In retrospect, Tom should’ve said something corny like: “looking forward to it.”

But he’d walked roughly nine kilometers after leaving Martha’s and had been considering locating a muggle bus station before the Knight Bus even appeared. The ride to Godric’s Hollow had been fraught with mayhem, and nosy drivers. And of course, finding the Malfoy’s had been a whole other adventure.

His day had been rife with travel. Tom was experiencing one of those rare instants where he was so exhausted, he couldn’t even pretend to be polite.

So, he ended up just slamming the door behind him after Lucius went on his way, not bothering with a goodbye, or other niceties. Tom released Nagini from his trunk, letting her acclimatize to their new surroundings. Then Tom collapsed on his bed, admiring his empty studio.

He wished he had a rug, or a lamp, or some curtains. Or something. All he had was a pile of laundry sitting at the foot of his bed and some schoolbooks. When Tom was ten or so, and fostering with Mrs.Cole, he used to flip through her shopping catalogues. He used to count all the things he wanted up, and then combine their prices and the amount would always be some obscene number.

Now that Tom had freedom, he was beginning to lust after frivolous things again. Like throw pillows.

With _tassles_.

Or maybe… Tom rolled over, closing his eyes...

It was a pipe dream.

But Harry Potter would be nice.

* * *

June 23rd 1997

Godric’s Fearless Wander was quaint. The stairs leading up to Tom’s room, led back down into the foyer where guests waited, so privacy was null. The restaurant had warm lighting, old murals embellishing its walls and a river running behind it.

On Tom’s first day, Bellatrix Lestrange had hmm-ed and cooed, pinched his cheeks and held him by the chin. He was apparently by her standards, an “ittle wittle baby.” She’d then proceeded to stun three meandering elves and then turned to Tom, quirking an eyebrow and twirling her wand threateningly. Probably, she was put off by Tom’s unimpressed laissez faire attitude. He flipped through the menus, pretending to memorize their contents, largely ignoring the elves whining in the corner and Bellatrix strutting around, kicking the air.

Tom wasn't scared of her. And he wasn't going to pretend he was. Tom used to cling to the status quo. He used to imagine the worst possible circumstances and devise multiple contingent plans. But now Tom shifted with reality as it came at him. The Malfoys owed him this job. They couldn’t fire him even if they wanted to.

There weren’t a lot of magicfolk in the establishment. The food was cooked entirely by elves, the tables were cleaned entirely by elves. But the restaurant apparently needed “a face” for its brand, which was where Tom came in. Tom’s job consisted exclusively of taking orders, bringing drinks and taking payments.

His first shift was long, the dinner rush chaotic. Godric’s Hollow was something of a tourist town. It’s population tiny, but it’s inns always bustling. Tom spent his break behind the restaurant, listening to the river run. At the end of the night, he climbed the stairs with heavy footsteps, carrying leftovers in a bag.

Tom sat on the ledge of his window, shirtless and eating a traditional bannock- with all his lights turned off, Nagini curled around his hovering ankle. He didn’t fall asleep until three in the morning.

* * *

Several things Tom wasn’t used to:

1\. The lack of noise at night. Tom was accustomed to on average, at least five distinct snores. He kept his windows open now, so he could listen to drunks leaving the pub.

2\. Tom’s windows faced the sun. It got incredibly hot in his room. Again, yet another reason to leave them open. That paired with the fact that for the first time in his life, Tom had an entire room to himself, he took to walking around in just his pants like a duck to water. Probably, he'd be completely naked if Nagini didn't complain incessantly.

3\. Tom was living in a wizarding town now, which meant owls frequently landed on his windowsills and pooped on the ledges. It also meant Tom was free to practice his magic and shoot hexes at them. Tom was now learning weather charms and fashioning throw pillows from old t shirts in his free time.

4\. Again, Tom was living in a wizarding town. Standing in his underwear in front of his windows, he saw Dumbledore enter the Post Office one morning. Dumbledore _might’ve_ seen him too because in his bright orange robes, he’d just waved at no one in particular. But it could’ve been Tom. Tom kept seeing unexpected schoolmates coming in at work. They always squinted and pointed, because they mostly just recognized Tom as ‘ _That Really Handsome Bloke That’s Always Hanging About That Annoying Prick Draco Malfoy’._ It would’ve been humiliating if Tom’d had any other reputation.

* * *

June 4th, 1997

So naturally, Tom _should’ve_ expected to see Harry Potter. 

Still he’d have thought the odds of Potters choosing to dine at a Malfoy owned establishment rather low; but people always surprised Tom, and there truly weren’t that many options in the town.

“We have reservations for a table for three,” James Potter stood with his red-haired wife, and his handsome son.

“Potter, right?” Tom said, holding their menus. He wasn’t going to act like he didn’t know who they were. He’d seen them at the train station every year since he was eleven. They were all so picturesque. The Potters seemed to sum up everything Tom’d ever wanted, in neat little packaging. He was silently obsessed with them. And they didn’t know who Tom was.

“How did you know?” James Potter asked dumbly, looking happy to know his name carried. Beside him, his son’s eyes lit up at Tom’s recognition. Harry Potter was something of Draco’s nemesis, so whenever Tom encountered him, it was frequently when he and Draco were throwing hexes at eachother.

“Your hair of course,” Tom replied, leading them to a corner booth with a window view of the river.

“Oh,” James responded, despondently messing his hair up. “Of course.”

“Can I get you anything to drink?” Tom said, as they got comfortable.

“Water, please” Lily replied. At her side, Potter sat staring openly at him. Tom met his eyes as he set their menus down, silently daring him to say something. He never did. Potter's eyes flicked down to his mouth, and likewise Tom admired the bridge of his nose, eyes carefully tracing his features.They’d certainly done a lot of looking over the years, but they’d never spoken.

Harry Potter landed smack dab in the middle of Tom’s category of things he wanted, but actively chose not to have, wedged between desserts and Lucius Malfoy’s head on a plate.

And Tom _could_ have Potter.

It was never even a question. Tom had seen the way Potter looked at him. Tom could recognize that wanton expression anywhere. He’d been on the receiving end of that look all his life. Without a doubt, their attraction was mutual. But always it was reduced to longing glances and nothing more.

They both had their reasons, and it was a line they never crossed.

Tom’s reasons were many, and not all of them he understood. Perhaps not being wealthy or being raised muggle had to do with it. But for the most part it was because most things that Tom wanted were taken away, and most things he worked for didn’t last long.

There were very few constants in Tom Riddle’s life.

Tom wasn’t about to go and attempt to make Harry Potter one of them.

* * *

June 14th 1997

There were a lot of ways to trifle with Draco Malfoy. He’d had everything served to him on a golden platter virtually his entire life, thus minor inconveniences felt like a stab in the throat to Draco and frequently resulted in public break downs…

Which often, were great fun to observe. Tom had once spent an entire year using filing charms on the underside of Draco’s dormitory bed every morning so that one night, when Draco did his routine of dramatically falling backwards into his mattress, the bed frame collapsed beneath his weight.

Crabbe laughed between a mouthful of pie and claimed that was Karma for Draco’s repeated comments on his weight. Tom still snickered whenever he remembered Draco’s outraged expression.

Though… Most days, Tom didn’t go to that effort. Usually he carried out half-arsed revenges that could be blamed on meddling fairies. Like hiding Draco’s toothpaste, his slippers. Cutting the sleeves off his robes, hexing his pants to give him boils.

And if you asked Tom to pinpoint why he did any of it, probably you’d get a vague explanation. That it relieved his frustrations, of which Tom had many. Truth be told, Tom’s umbrage ran deep. It had history.

In second year, Tom had gotten an academic excellence award. The Malfoys, shamed that pureblood Draco was passed over for a no-name foster kid in the same house, went on to pay off the Hogwarts administration the following year. There were no excellence awards for Tom the years following. Anything Tom could do, Draco _had_ to do better, and when he couldn’t, his parents bought him recognition. Draco was made prefect, when Tom had originally been slated for the position. Draco was made headboy, when it would have been Tom. Draco had defense competition plaques, multiple merit trophies all belonging to Tom.

Draco’s problem was he wasn’t aware. He didn’t see how corrupt the Hogwarts institution was. He genuinely thought he shat rose petals.

_Tom’s_ problem was that on the sliding scale of priorities, Tom’s own roof over his own head, took precedence. Tom’s problem was that the Malfoy’s were always providing something for everything they took from him. The Malfoys were inescapable.

Thus, there Draco Malfoy was, pacing in Tom’s newfound home.

_Look at him. He really believes I’m his friend._

Because it was practically his _job_ at this point, Tom entertained Draco for the most part, flipping through schoolbooks, while Draco criticized Tom’s newly bought second-hand duvet or his lack of _things_ in general.

“Don’t you have a mirror in here?” He said, leaving the bathroom.

“No,” Tom replied, flipping a page. “I look at my reflection using the steel on the sink handle.” He said. Which was a half-truth but also, he said it just so he could listen to Draco go:

“What?” while gaping at him stupidly.

“I said,” Tom said, “My mirror broke when your father looked at it.”

“What?” Draco said again “Are you insulting my father?! How _dare_ you!”

“Father?” Tom said, “I didn’t say anything about your father. Are you okay Draco? I think you’ve heard me wrong.”

“Fuck’s sake!” he yelled. “WOULD YOU STOP DOING THAT!”

“Why are you yelling now? I was only just telling you I’m getting a mirror with my paycheck next week. Merlin. Get your ears checked.”

The thing about lying was if you did it with enough caliber, most people were prone to automatically believe you in the first few seconds no matter _what_ you said. And if you said something completely ridiculous, they spent those first few seconds looking like apes until their brains caught up.

Again, this was how Tom got his small revenges.

Draco pouted for the next few moments, situated on the floor, curled up by Tom’s windows and hugging Tom’s makeshift throw pillow (which was fairly decent all things considered). Draco looked out at the town square for the next ten minutes and Tom basked in the silence that was occasionally broken by bird calls and chatty villagers and the sound of him flipping a page.

“Is that…” Draco broke the quiet, before trailing off.

Tom’s eye twitched.

“What?” Draco had a habit of not completing sentences.

“Look, I think I see Harry Potter.”

Tom shifted off his bed and hovered over him. Indeed, Harry Potter could be seen in the town square, playfully fooling around with Ronald Weasley. Tom watched Potter pull Weasley into a headlock, laughing while Weasley cursed at him. Potter was wearing this leather jacket that should’ve been far too hot with the weather. But the sleeveless shirt he’d donned underneath made the aesthetic admirable. Tom’d rented ‘ _The Outsiders_ ’ once with his at the time foster mum when he was seven, and he still fancied the look of Dallas Winston. Which Potter was channeling astonishingly well in his muggle garb.

“Didn’t Bellatrix ever mention the Potters live here?” Even Tom knew. Albeit, there wasn’t much Tom _didn’t_ know about the Potters.

“Why would she?”

They watched Potter open the door to a nearby grocer’s, Weasley following. Draco’s sparse eyebrows were raised, and his small mouth had evolved into an o shape.

Tom’s stomach sunk at the expression Draco wore. Tom's baselevel mood was furious, so it was difficult to tell when he was even moreso. He just knew he didn't like Draco looking at Potter like that.

“He’s gotten kind of… fit, hasn’t he? I mean… ignoring the stupid clothes.”

What, Harry Potter does squats for a few months and that’s all it takes to get a bit of positive attention from Draco Malfoy? _He’s always been fit_ , Tom wanted to reply. There had never _not_ been a moment where Potter hadn’t been striking. Beautiful.

But Draco liked to order the same food and drinks as Tom. He liked to wear the clothes Tom had strenuously saved for. He liked to use Tom’s quills and Tom’s parchment. He liked to eat Tom’s food, knowing his own home had far more options.

Harry Potter was something Tom would never mention first. Ever.

“I thought you hated him.” Tom resisted the ever-growing urge to beat Draco bloody with his schoolbook.

“What?” Draco wrinkled his nose, oblivious to Tom’s inner turmoil. “I never hated him.”

“You’ve spent the last six years annoying him.”

“It’s fun to tease Potter. That doesn’t mean I ever hated him,” Draco looked at Tom like he thought he was an imbecile. Maybe Tom was. Maybe Tom really, _really_ was.

It was a red light and a siren. Blaring, flashing lights repeating in Tom’s mind and screaming: Stop, Stop, Stop. Draco wrapped his arms around his knees, still looking thoughtful out at the market’s front, while Tom’s mind worked relentlessly for a loophole of some sort.

“Well he hates you,” Tom reminded him. Calling his friends blood traitors and mudbloods wasn’t exactly how you went about impressing somebody.

“He doesn’t have to,” Draco replied, lower lip sticking out. “I mean… not anymore. I could do something about that.”

* * *

May 25th, 1997

“What are you planning to do after you graduate?”

Narcissa Malfoy sipped her tea. She’d conjured a table, complete with tea cozies in the middle of the boys dormitory. Her husband ambled about, examining the other students’ wardrobes, completely disregarding their possessions.

The visit was unusual, but not unexpected. What was strange was their demand of Tom’s presence and of privacy. Draco was undoubtedly out in the common room throwing a tantrum at that very moment.

Tom mulled her question over, watching his tea swirl alongside his spoon. It wasn’t as if he’d never envisioned his future. He’d just envisioned a different future than the one it appeared he was falling into.

“It can’t be easy. Being second best,” Lucius said. Always so good at offhanded insults, that man. He’d reached Tom’s spartan corner of the room, examining his tightly made bed, and the emptiness of his bedside table. Nagini slid out from under Tom’s pillow spitting insults the Malfoys couldn’t understand. Her loyalty wasn’t unappreciated.

“But that doesn’t mean you won’t have any opportunities,” Narcissa completed.

Just not the opportunities Tom _should_ have. Not the ones that rightfully belonged to him.

“I suppose I’ve considered teaching,” Tom finally replied.

“ _Teaching?_ You want to be a professor?” Narcissa clasped her hands together. With her hair tucked behind her ears and her wide smile, she looked rather elf-like. _Why so excited?_ Tom brooded. “That’s quite suitable for you. You’ve been tutoring Draco all these years, so look at that, you’ve already some experience under your belt!”

“’Cissa, quit the pleasantries. The boy’s not an idiot,” Lucius snapped.

“What are you planning, Mr. Malfoy?”

Lucius drew one of Narcissa’s chairs out, taking a seat and leaning back. He crossed his legs, exposing the gold stitching on his trousers. It was a wonder that after all these years, Tom hadn’t turned into the living embodiment of envy.

“We Malfoys exist off pride. Don’t let it be said that what we’re asking of you is something we need. But something we demand. You know, you used to fight us on this, tooth and nail. But there isn’t anything money can’t buy, is there?”

“Get to the point. Just because I’ve got all day doesn’t mean I like my time wasted.”

Lucius pursed his lips, folding his arms at Tom’s cutting retort.

“We want to secure Draco a spot on the Wizengamot. And with time... Minister for Magic might be a faraway dream right now, but it’s not outside the realms of possibility. But… his extracurriculars, his accolades… At some point they might not be good enough. And unfortunately, his O.W.L. results were lackluster,” Narcissa said.

“Draco’s grades are good,” Albeit often surpassed by Tom and Hermione Granger. But they weren’t anything to mope about. Tom had put the work in. Draco’s gradesheets comprised almost entirely of O’s. The lowest Draco had ever sank was an A, and that’d been three years prior. Draco was smart. And when he was acting like a moron, Tom at least had the proof to back this statement up.

“We don’t take any chances.”

“Just buy him a spot.” Bribe the examiners. _Do what you’ve always done._

“If we could, don’t you think we would?”

“So, what do you want from me?”

“How attached are you to the idea of professor-hood?” Narcissa asked. Tom was more attached to the castle, than anything else, but that wasn’t about to be something he’d admit.

“Why.” Tom had an inkling he understood what they were insinuating. But he needed to hear them say it, loud and clear, and unashamed.

“500,000 galleons. You quit Hogwarts, somewhere in the middle of your seventh year. And you sit in for Draco’s N.E.W.T.S.” The Malfoys often asked a lot of Tom. Still, he wasn’t prepared for the suggestion he leave Hogwarts, even if it was the inevitable. He took a sip of his tea, considering a reply.

“You know how many measures they have in place. What you’re proposing is dangerous.” And ridiculous. Were they caught, it would be Tom receiving the brunt of punishment, while the Malfoys hid in the shadows of their privilege. Still… 500,000 galleons sounded pleasant to the ears. With rationing, and a few smart investments, Tom could be set for life. And if not that much, then a few decades at least. The matter was whether it was really, genuinely worth it.

“Polyjuice is difficult to detect. And we wouldn’t be the only ones to do this, Tom. It’s a well observed secret among us purebloods. And sort of a loophole for examiners. It takes effort, time, money, all of which we have- and frequently they are lacking in.”

It was an endeavor for only the rich and desperate. Tom'd seen this sort of thing before. Occasionally social workers looked the other way. Even in broad view of filthy, tragic circumstances. It was easier to keep a child housed than all the problems that would surface the minute they blew a whistle. It appeared this situation was not so different.

“ _Of course_ it does.”

“You can still get most careers with your O.W.L.S. And you’ll be well rewarded. 500,000 galleons Tom. That’s more than most wizards earn in their lifetime.”

Well now that they mentioned it. Tom wondered how much they'd offer if they asked Tom to lay down his life for Draco. Probably not much at all.

“And it’s what? At most 2% percent of what _you_ have. You’re telling me you’d spend _that_ little to secure Draco’s future?” They blinked at him, their faces growing grim. They'd dealt with Tom many times before. But he could still surprise them. What surprised Tom was that they really thought he'd hear an amount that was meaningless to their own accounts and lose his utter mind. “Do you even love your son at all?”

“I told you this was a terrible idea, Narcissa. He’s _untrustworthy_ ,” Lucius hissed.

Tom looked at him, unable to control his grin. He nodded, raising his eyebrows, as if to say: _Do, go on._

“Terrible idea? Or your only option? Do keep in mind, where Draco would be today if I’d never had the misfortune to be in his year. You don’t genuinely believe you could find somebody as good as me, do you? Perhaps Hermione Granger- but the three of us know she wouldn’t do what _I would_.”

“We’d have found another way.”

“But you didn’t. And you should have." They really, really should have left Tom to his own devices. "And now, thanks to you, Draco owes his life to me. So… let us come to a compromise shall we?”

“What more do you want?” They said, as if _Tom_ was the greedy one. As if they hadn’t come all this way just to negotiate with him. They _needed_ him.

“500,000 galleons? No. You’ll give me twice as much. And I want a home provided for my summer.”

The two looked at eachother, seemingly relaying a message. It was all for show. He knew they’d abide by his terms.

“Keep in mind, none of the money is upfront. We'll give you half when you sit in for Draco's exams. And the other half on the conditions his N.E.W.T results are all O's.” Tom could do that.

“Then provide me a job for the meantime.”

**Author's Note:**

> -speaks into the abyss-  
> this is my pet project, please love her. i have no idea where this one is going, but it hit me at three in the morning and i knew i had to write it, which is kind of exactly how all seeing eye glass hit me, but this one has less planning. it's not as dark (probably) but sadder (probably). it's going to explore a tom with more freedoms and less fucks; but also more hesitant regarding what he wants. he's not going to have that 'clique' and he's not going to use his natural charisma as much, he's not going to be as much of a kiss ass. Harry too is going to be different.


End file.
